


Coffee Talk

by Spiderlily_Writes



Category: Persona 4, Persona 5
Genre: Canon Compliant, Dojima meets a kindred spirit, Friendship, Multi, Naoto is nonbinary fight me, Sojiro gets some advice, Two dads meet, bonding over coffee, light spoilers for the end of persona 4, non-romantic, romantic relationships are all implied
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-18
Updated: 2020-06-18
Packaged: 2021-03-03 22:15:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,948
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24782938
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spiderlily_Writes/pseuds/Spiderlily_Writes
Summary: Ryotaro Dojima is in Tokyo working a case, and wanders into a certain cafe late at night.
Relationships: Kujikawa Rise/Narukami Yu, Kurusu Akira/Niijima Makoto, Kurusu Akira/Suzui Shiho
Comments: 3
Kudos: 165





	Coffee Talk

**Author's Note:**

> I've had a monkey on my back to write this one for ages.

It’s late. Nine thirty, Ryotaro Dojima confirms after looking at his watch, taking shelter from the rain under an overhang by the road. He can hear it pattering gently, like a million tiny feet, and he closes his eyes to enjoy the sound.

He hasn’t always enjoyed the sound of rain. Once, rain brought fog, and fog brought trouble. But as the years went by and time did what it always does to wounds, he’s gotten used to it again. The smell of it hangs thick in the air, a gentle, refreshing scent that only underscores the spring ambience that permeates the city.

It’s been years since Ryotaro has been to Tokyo, he muses, pulling a pack of cigarettes out of his breast pocket. He’s told Nanako he’ll try to cut back, and he will. His little girl is thirteen now, and she’s growing up to be every bit the firecracker her mother was. He smiles fondly as he thinks about her. Shouldn’t be her job to look after his health, but she’s got way too much love in her.

Dojima pulls out a lighter and flicks it a couple of times, but nothing happens. He sighs. It must be a sign, he thinks, before sliding the lighter and cigarette back into his pocket with a bit of shame. The universe itself wants to give him a hard time about his bad habits.

Of course, there’s more than one bad habit Ryotaro Dojima engages in. The other is the consumption of too much caffeine too late at night. It’s a by-product of his detective work. He’s spent many a late, sleepless evening in the office poring over files, trying desperately to weave together a story that makes sense out of a million loose ends.

He looks around the street. He’s renting a room while he’s in Tokyo, but it’s nowhere near here. He’s restless, too restless to go back and sleep. He’s been walking the streets all day, talking to civilians, trying to gather information on the case he’s been brought in for, but he’s turned up nothing after a sixteen hour slog. A miserable sixteen hour slog, he thinks to himself, casting his gaze up and down the backstreets of Yongen-Jaya, as if the answer would jump out and reveal itself. As if the suspect was crouching behind a trash can, just waiting for a clever detective to find them.

Naoto had called him in, had told superiors at their station that they knew just the person to help with a stuck case. The two of them had worked together, Naoto had said, and he came highly recommended. He doesn’t want to let the kid down, but he can’t help but wonder why Naoto thinks that he’ll be able to solve something that even they can’t. A detective, he is. A Detective Prince, he is not.

So Ryotaro Dojima finds himself leaning against a wall, listening to the rain, trying to ignore the frustration he feels. He looks, for the first time, at the building across the street from where he stands.

A faded, aged red and white overhang, hard to make out in the low light of the streetlamps proclaims it to be  _ Leblanc Coffee and Curry _ . Dojima snorts. Coffee and curry? Whatever. He’s heard stranger. The sign in the window says  _ open _ , and that’s as good an invitation as any. One vice unavailable to him, perhaps the other will provide some solace.

He takes long, fast strides across the street, flinching away from the rain that soaks his shirt again in a matter of seconds, resenting the uneven road below him for soaking through his shoes, and reaches for the doorknob. He pulls it open, and steps inside, a bell tinkling softly to announce his arrival.

_ Leblanc  _ immediately finds an empty spot deep in his heart and nestles in tight. It’s exactly the kind of café that he loves. The first thing that hits him is the smell. The scents of freshly ground and brewed coffee and what he suspects is a pot of curry mingle well with the smell of wood polish and the aroma inherent in old buildings.

It’s beautiful, too, clearly lovingly maintained and cleaned. The counter is a dark, polished hardwood affair that, despite the care it clearly receives, has a somewhat worn top from all of the mugs, plates, arms, elbows, books, and spills that have graced it over the years. A painting, one that he can’t help but feel like he should recognize, hangs by the counter’s far right side. The booths look comfortable enough that he could sink into one and take a nap. It feels like home. There’s a pang of sadness in his chest when he realizes he won’t be able to take it home with him.

“Just a minute!” a young, far-too-awake voice rings out from the back. Why don’t some people have the good sense to be tired at night?

Dojima slides into one of the stools at the counter and grabs a newspaper that a previous patron must have left behind. He pages through it idly, not really paying attention to the words, until he hears footsteps approaching.

A young man stands before him wearing an apron that has clearly seen better days. Shaggy hair dances in front of glasses that are clearly just for show. Ryotaro Dojima is a detective, and he’s paid to notice things like this. The boy is probably somewhere between sixteen and eighteen. Tall, lanky, Dojima swears he’s seen the kid somewhere before. On the news, maybe? Doesn’t matter.

“What’ll it be?” he asks, leaning on the counter, folding his arms and resting his weight on his elbows. He has a casual competence about him that bespeaks more involvement with the place than a part time job. Ryotaro looks for a nametag. There isn’t one.

“Coffee, black. Free refills?” Dojima asks, curtly, but not impolitely.

“Yeah, for the same visit. What kind?” The kid looks at him, waiting for another answer.

“What do you mean, what kind? Coffee. Caffeinated.” Dojima frowns and his brows knit together.

“No, I mean what kind of roast? We have Blue Mountain, Narino, Crystal Mountain, Kona, Antigua, Kenya Double-A…” The young man trails off. Dojima cocks an eyebrow. He clearly knows his stuff.

“Kona, I guess,” he says, tiredly. “You know your coffee, son.”

“Learned from the best,” he replies, grabbing a jar off the shelf and beginning to portion the beans into a grinder. They smell heavenly. “Haven’t seen you in here before. Are you new or visiting?”

“Visiting. I’m a detective. Here on loan from Inaba. Ever heard of it?” He swears, he sees the kid’s hand tense on the grinder when he mentions he’s a detective. Interesting.

“Yeah, actually. A friend of mind moved out there. Do you know Shiho Suzui? She’d be in high school.” The tension is gone, melted away in a moment. Dojima would swear he imagined it. 

“I think so, actually. Ran into her once or twice in town. Sweet girl. She your girlfriend or something?” Dojima asks playfully. He can’t help but find himself liking the kid, who snorts before replying:

“One of many.”

Ryotaro waits for him to elaborate. He doesn’t. He pours the ground beans into a filter.

“Well, that’s interesting. You the son of the owner here? What’s your name?”

“Something like that. Akira. Yours?” He extends a hand to shake, the other one occupied pouring water over the beans.

“Dojima.” He takes the kid, Akira’s, hand, shaking it firmly.

There’s silence as Akira finishes his coffee. He sets the mug on the counter. It’s chipped, as all good coffee mugs are. “Thanks.” he says, sliding the yen across the counter. “Keep the change.”

  
The young man nods respectfully, taking the money to the register and placing it inside. He doesn’t take the change for himself. “Thank you, Dojima. We appreciate the business.”

The bell on the door tinkles again, and both of them turn to look at the new arrival. It’s a man, around Dojima’s age or a little older. He has a sharp, angular face and a beard to match. The man looks like he could play a villain in a cartoon from the 80s, except for his kind eyes. He wears an apron that matches Akira’s. The young man heaves a sigh of relief.

“It’s about time you got back, Sojiro. I’m running late!” he says, reaching behind him to untie the apron. He slips it over his head and hangs it on a hook. “Makoto said if you keep me over my shift again, she’s just going to start the movie without me.”

“Quit whining, boy. Your shift’s supposed to go until ten, you’re lucky I’m letting you out early.” Sojiro replies. “Besides, you know how Futaba gets when she has some new obsession to talk about. I went as quick as I could.”

He slides behind the counter with a grace that speaks to years of familiarity. Akira slides out after him, and Dojima’s eyes widen when he sees a cat, previously unnoticed, jump off the windowsill and land squarely on the boy’s shoulder. It yowls in what could only be described as an irritated tone, until the boy reaches up to scratch its head. He laughs, then turns back around.

“Good to meet you, Dojima. I’ll see you later da-” Akira cuts off, his face flushing. “Sojiro.”

Dojima looks at Sojiro, who is now grinning to himself, but there’s a hint of redness on his cheeks as well. “Have a good night, boy. Stay out of trouble. Last thing I need is you tangled up with the law again. Tell Makoto I said hello, and tell Sae to get her ass over here again sometime. She’s good people.”

Tangled up with the law  _ again _ ? Dojima turns back to look at Akira. The boy flashes him a winsome grin and slips out the door, taking off into the night, seemingly heedless of the rain. Sojiro sighs. 

“Sorry about that. What were you having?” he asks, his baritone voice feeling like an excellent fit for the mellow café. 

“Kona, black.” Dojima replies. “Kid giving you trouble?”

Sojiro grabs another mug and pours himself a cup of coffee using the same beans from Dojima’s. “You have no idea. That kid has given me more trouble than I knew it was possible for a kid to get into. Hell, more trouble than any ten kids put together.”

“He doesn’t seem like trouble,” Dojima replies, taking a sip of his. It’s perfect, some of the best coffee he’s ever had. “There a story to tell?”

“What are you, a cop?” Sojiro asks, eyeing him suspiciously over the rim of his own coffee. He leans against the back wall and folds one arm across himself to support the other.

Dojima laughs. “Detective, actually. Ryotaro Dojima. But I’m not asking professionally. Think of it as one father to another.”

The barista coughs, sounding like he’s choked on his coffee. “He’s not my son!” says the man, too defensively. “Just...a ward of the state I took care of for a while. I have too big of a heart for my own good. And he’s helping out here in exchange for a place to stay while he’s back in town.”

“Sounds like a pretty semantic difference to me.”

Sojiro scowls. “Anyways, it’s not that he’s a bad kid. He just sticks his nose in where it doesn’t belong. He helps people, he’s a nice guy, but sometimes helping the right people can run you afoul of the wrong ones. You know?”

“Oh, I know. Maybe better than you’d think. I have a nephew who gets into exactly the same kind of trouble.”

“I doubt it’s the  _ same  _ kind of trouble, trust me.” Sojiro replies, chuckling lightly. 

“You’d be surprised.” Dojima says, laughing along. The two men enjoy their coffee in silence for a few beats. The aroma hangs heavy.

“What can we do for them, Dojima?” Sojiro asks, idly, and if not for the fact that he says Dojima’s name, he’d not notice. “You ever worry our boys are going to get into trouble so deep that they can’t get themselves out? That neither of us can?”

Ryotaro Dojima thinks about this for a moment. He thinks about his nephew. He thinks about how his nephew and his friends saved his daughter’s life, and his, if he’s being honest. He thinks of how his nephew brought them all closer together as a family, and how he made Nanako smile. He thinks of how his nephew is in college now, and about the kind, gentle man he is.

“You know, Sojiro. I don’t think we have to worry about that. We give them the tools, but I’m confident they’ll turn out just fine.”

“I suppose so. Even if they’re neck deep in some horsecrap we don’t have a hope of understanding.” Sojiro says, sighing again.

“Even then,” Dojima says. He’d be shocked if Sojiro’s ‘ward’ has ever seen anything like his nephew has, but stranger things have happened. He finishes off his coffee and sets the mug down on the counter with a light click. “Best damn coffee I’ve ever had. You mind if I have a smoke?”

Sojiro gestures to the ashtray a few seats down. Dojima reaches for it, pulling it closer. He grabs the cigarette and lighter out of his pocket, and holds the cig between his lips. The lighter clicks. Once. Twice. Three times. He sighs. “Dammit. You got a light?”

The barista grabs a stick lighter from under the counter and ignites it a few inches away from the end of the cigarette. Dojima leans forward to light it, nodding in thanks. He takes a drag, then grabs it between his index and middle fingers.

“You sound awful worried about the kid for him to not be yours. You’re a good man, Sojiro.” When the other man snorts and waves him off, Dojima insists. “No, seriously. The world could use more people who care that much. The fact that you give a damn shows in how you talk, how you act, and how you make coffee.”

“The kid made yours,” Sojiro points out. Dojima shrugs.

“He claims you taught him.”

“That I did. Kid wouldn’t know ground beans from potting soil if I hadn’t got to him.”

“Well then, sounds to me like you’re a good teacher. Take it from someone with one a little older than yours. If he’s a good kid, he’ll be alright, no matter what kind of trouble he gets into. We just have to trust them.” Dojima ashes his cigarette into the tray, then takes another drag.

“How late are you open, anyways? I don’t want to keep you.” Ryotaro adds, suddenly realizing how late it is. Sojiro shrugs.

“As late as I want to be. As late as it takes you to finish your coffee and cigarette. But it’s been a while since I’ve had decent conversation walk through the door. You in town for long?”

Now it’s Dojima’s turn to shrug. “Maybe. We’ll see. The case I’m working on doesn’t seem to be going anywhere fast, and my nephew’s staying with my kid for a couple weeks.”

“You got a kid too, huh?”

“Yeah. Daughter. Thirteen years old.”

“No kidding? Mine’s fifteen. So we’ve both got a young man giving us trouble, and a daughter to look out for. What are the odds?” Sojiro laughs, then takes another drink.

“You and me, two halves of the same coin,” Dojima agrees.

They’re silent again. Ryotaro Dojima feels peaceful, more than he has in days. Something about the place is just soothing. Not to mention, it’s nice to talk to someone who gets it. He finishes his cigarette and grinds it against the ashtray, making sure it’s out.

“I suppose I’ll get out of your hair so you can close up shop.” Dojima says, standing up and stretching. “If your old bones are anything like mine, you probably want to go home and go to bed.”

“Mmm. Don’t be a stranger. If you’re here tomorrow, come back in. I’ll have some curry on.” Sojiro says, his tone warm. 

Sojiro takes his cup and places it below the counter, wiping down the spot where it was sitting with a cloth. 

“Tell Akira the detective is on to him,” Dojima laughs. Sojiro joins him. “And that he’d better not skip town.”

“I’ll do that.”

“Evening, Sojiro.”

“Evening, detective.”

As Ryotaro Dojima walks out the door, despite the cool night air, he feels warmth. He pulls out his cellphone and dials his nephew. The phone rings twice before he answers.

“Hey, what’s going on?” his nephew asks. “Everything okay?” He can hear Nanako laughing at something in the background, and can swear he hears Rise as well.

“You better not be having girls over,” Dojima scolds. “I can hear Rise back there.” 

“Trust me, she’s here for Nanako way more than me.”

“It’s true!” Rise calls out from the background. Dojima laughs.

“I just wanted to check in. Make sure you were doing alright. Met a kid who reminds me of you, when you were his age, and it made me think.”

“Dangerous habit, uncle. You’ll hurt yourself,” his nephew says, faux-concern seeping into his voice.

“Shut up, smartass. God forbid I care about you.” 

There’s a moment of silence.

“Love you, kid. You turned out alright. Tell Nanako I said goodnight.”

Another beat.

“Love you too, uncle. I will. Hang in there.”

“Yeah. Talk to you later.”

He hangs up the phone, then heads down the street toward the train station, thoughts of family keeping him warm.

**Author's Note:**

> Catch me on twitter @spiderlilywrite


End file.
